


Pick Up The Pieces

by winterwaters



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, POV Multiple, Post 2x08, Post Spacewalker, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-05 11:23:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3118352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwaters/pseuds/winterwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a Tumblr prompt in which Clarke attempts to deal with her guilt and grief over what she's done. Bellamy helps in whatever way he can, and slowly, eventually she realizes that with his help, she might be able to finally move on. Picks up directly after the events of 2x08.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theconstantprincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theconstantprincess/gifts).



> **Prompt** : A post-Spacewalker fic where Bellamy helps Clarke wash the blood off her hands and she breaks down in his arms, and later says all the men who love her die (her dad, Wells, Finn) and she looks pointedly at him and says "do you love me?" and he doesn't reply but it's clearly written all over his face and she gets angry and says "then you're a fool and you'll die too" and he says "you don't get to decide who I do or don't love, princess."

Clarke stumbled back into the camp, barely even registering the looks being thrown at her by Grounders and Arkers alike. There was horror and fear and shock, and even worse, grudging respect and gratefulness. She didn’t want any of it. She didn’t deserve any of it. The only thing that rang in her ears was Raven’s endless scream. It sounded like a gong into her mind, seeping into her veins and twisting with her blood until her body vibrated with it. Her breath caught and she stumbled to the ground.

She saw the girl in red flying over to her: closed her eyes and waited for the impact.

It never came.

When her eyes opened, a wall of black stood in front of her. She followed the color up, up, up, until finally olive broke into the darkness.

“You want her, you’re gonna have to go through me.” Bellamy’s voice rang into the night, all steel and fire. “Anyone goes near her, anyone so much as looks at her wrong, and I will shoot. _Is that clear?_ ”

He punctuated the last three words by clicking off the safety on his rifle.

Someone came to stand next to him, and Clarke briefly registered Murphy’s presence. Murphy, who she’d belittled and mocked, was still here defending her. Another wave of shame overtook, hot and revolting. Then there was a crunch of boots on dirt, and her mother stood shoulder to shoulder with Bellamy. Clarke wanted to throw up. It had taken _this_ , her broken and Finn dead, to create the sight she’d been wanting to see for so long. The tears blurred her vision again and she lowered her head to her knees.

Only once Bellamy had leveled a glare at seemingly every person in the camp did he turn and crouch to her level. His hand crept forward slowly into the space between them, palm up in silent question. The knife was slippery in her right hand but she couldn’t seem to let it go. So she put her left hand in his, letting him pull her up and lead her away from the crowd. 

Instead of going into the Ark, he took her around it. Their fingers were threaded together so tightly she couldn’t tell who was squeezing harder. She followed him mutely past the bulky ship, past the tents, past the small gate _(Raven’s Gate)_ and through the trees until she heard a faint tinkling of water. They stopped at a small creek. Bellamy pulled her down next to him. She sank to her knees in the dirt, absently tasting salt in her mouth. She wondered if the tears would ever stop. She wondered if she deserved for them to stop.

“Clarke,” he said gently.

She didn’t deserve that, either. But Bellamy was persistent. Carefully, he reached around her to grasp her other hand that still held the knife. Her fingers were locked around the hilt. He looked at her with a mixture of sadness and stubbornness before his fingers wrapped around the naked blade and tugged. 

She still couldn’t let go.

The steel bit into his hand, slicing through the skin, but he kept looking at her. She watched his hand, watched as the red seeped out, mixing with hers. _With Finn’s._ A sob wracked her throat and she pitched forward at the same moment he moved. The knife fell to the ground, forgotten as her face pressed into his jacket. She wept, shaking with grief and guilt. Her tears soaked through his shirt and into his skin until she thought they might form a second layer over him. Any words she attempted to form became garbled sounds. All she wanted was to apologize endlessly - to Finn, to Raven, to Wells and Charlotte and Anya. So much death, so much pain, and all of it because of her. She hiccuped and tried to breathe, and then Finn’s face appeared - _thanks, princess_ \- and it all began anew. Bellamy remained through it all, silent and sturdy and strong as her pain poured out. 

When Clarke had nothing left to give, she slumped against him. The emptiness threatened to swallow her whole from the inside out. It was only then that he took her hands, which had since fisted in his shirt, and one by one placed them into the creek. The water ran over her skin, loosening the dried blood. Bellamy patiently wiped her skin clean, paying extra attention to her right hand that had held the knife. His fingers weren’t gentle. They scraped again and again at the cracked blood and dirt, rubbing determinedly until all she could see was olive against white. She didn’t resist when he brought the water to her face, his thumb sweeping the tear tracks off her cheeks. 

Finally she took a deep, shuddering breath and stood on shaky feet. Bellamy was right beside her as they walked slowly back into the camp, avoiding all others until finally he guided her inside a tent. 

“I can’t sleep.”

It was the first thing she’d said all night. Bellamy only nodded in understanding before settling on the ground and placing his gun next to him.

“I’ll be here.”

His tone brooked no argument, and she didn’t deserve any of this - not him, not kindness, not protection - but she sat next to him anyways, and there they remained night after night.

~~~~~~~

Octavia hadn’t meant to find them. The only reason she’d gone to the medical unit in the middle of the night was to set up everything early for the next day. She’d also meant to leave Lincoln’s newly-found plants on the table as a surprise for Clarke. The girl had been working relentlessly the past few months, whether it was tending to patients or assimilating the 47 into camp or as a liaison to the Grounders. She was everywhere at once. No one aside from Bellamy commented on her exhausted eyes and gaunt face, though she brushed it off each time. Still, it seemed to Octavia that whenever she turned around, she found her brother shoving food into Clarke’s hand or firmly making her sit down or putting himself between her and the adults who didn’t always see eye to eye. No matter what, he was always right by her side.

Many people had moved on from what had happened in their own way, but Octavia knew Clarke wasn’t one of them. She understood that everyone dealt with their grief differently, and for Clarke the only solution was to throw herself into the work in front of her. It wasn’t as if there was a shortage of things to be done, and everyone still looked to her as a leader, now more than ever. Clarke carried a burden that nobody could envy. So when Octavia snuck into the medical unit that night, she’d just wanted to do something small for her, to show her she wasn’t alone, that she did have help even if she wouldn’t always ask for it. But when she got there, what she found was completely unexpected.

The water at the small sink was running, and two figures stood hunched over it. Their voices carried through the room. Clarke was speaking matter-of-factly, almost as if she was lecturing, while Bellamy watched her cautiously.

“I had to clean them,” Clarke was saying repeatedly. “The blood just won’t come off. Can’t you see?”

He hesistated. “It’s too dark in here. Why don’t we go get-”

“No! I need to clean them _now._ ” She may as well have stomped her foot.

“Okay, okay.” Bellamy fumbled until he found a small flashlight. “Can you at least show me so I can help?”

Clarke held out her hands and he shone the light on them. Octavia frowned. Her hands were completely unmarred. Aside from older scars, there was nothing to be seen but smooth, pale skin. But Bellamy held her fingers up, squinting into the light as he inspected each one with a speculative sound. With every curious murmur, the strange feeling inside Octavia grew a little bit.

“Now I see it,” he said with exaggerated shock. “You’re right, they _are_ dirty.”

Only then did Octavia realize what was happening. He used to use that tone, that patient voice with her when she was younger and wanted to play or was being stubborn about something. Clarke was dreaming out loud.

“I told you.” Clarke’s voice was petulant.

“You did,” he agreed. “Okay, can you do me a favor? Hold the flashlight for me and shine it here into the sink. Yeah, like that. Good.” He kept murmuring reassurances to her as he put her hand under the running water, his fingers brushing over hers with a wet cloth as he cleaned her hand. Octavia’s heart broke a little watching her older brother comfort Clarke in the only way he could. In the only way she’d ever let him. He held up her hand when he was done, waiting for her evaluation.

“You missed a spot. Here.”

“Of course.”

He bent to the sink again. Octavia eased inside, careful to stick to the shadows as she crept around the perimeter of the unit. She knew there were sedatives lying in the cabinet about three, maybe four doors down. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to get one. Step by step, she inched closer. Ever so cautiously, she opened the door a crack until her fingers closed around a syringe. Bringing it close, she checked the label to make sure it was the correct one before heading for the two of them in the dark.

She approached from behind Clarke, waving an arm so Bellamy would see her. His eyes latched onto hers just once before he was focused on Clarke again, his voice never faltering. His hands gripped each of hers, holding them up to the light that he now held with his teeth.

Octavia hurried forward and put the tip of the needle to Clarke’s neck, pushing down to inject the medicine. Clarke swayed and nearly fell backward, but Bellamy was there - _he was always there_ \- to catch her. The flashlight clattered to the floor as he lifted Clarke into his arms. He looked wearily over her head to Octavia.

“Thanks.”

“Of course.” She walked with him back to the tent and watched him lay Clarke down on the mat, smoothing back her hair. She put a hand on his shoulder as he sat back tiredly.

“She’s not going to remember this tomorrow, is she?”

“She never does.”


	2. Chapter 2

Bellamy hated the fucking Grounder pits. All they’d done was cause unnecessary injuries to his people lately, despite his constant warnings to _be careful_ when they left camp. Even though he and Miller had scoured the area to identify any remaining pits, he just knew they hadn’t gotten them all.

Which was how he ended up here, stretched flat on the ground and scared out of his damn mind as he held Clarke’s hand so hard he thought he might break the bone. 

Her shocked cry was all he’d heard before he saw a rush of blonde hair, and nothing else mattered except that he had her hands and he damn well wasn’t going to let go. Her body shook as she looked below her and then back up at him. Her grip slipped a little, and he lurched forward.

“Hold on, Clarke.” _Just hold on._

“I’m trying.” Her voice was all sorts of exhausted. “It hurts.”

She might have been talking about the strain in her arms or the bum leg she’d been on for days or just this fucked up mess that was their life now. He gripped her fingers more tightly.

“I know. I know it does.” He tried to be calm, steady. For her. “Just hang on, okay? I’m going to get you out.”

Her eyes drifted towards the bottom of the pit again and his heart was suddenly in his throat. “Clarke, I swear to god if you fall I’m coming in after you. I mean it.” He said _fall_ and not _let go_ , but they were one and the same.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she sniffed. “The fall alone would knock you out.”

“I’ve got a hard head.” His shoulders ached as he tried to yank her closer. “And once I get down there and haul you out, you’ll have to drag my sorry ass back to camp and stitch me up. And you _know_ I’m an awful patient. You really want to put yourself through that?”

Clarke huffed out something like an exasperated laugh, but her eyes remained on his, bright with unshed tears. He squeezed her hands.

“So how about you use that brain of yours to tell me if there’s anything that can help us?”

Her eyes scanned the dirt, her arms shaking with the effort of being vertical for so long. “I’m- I’m going to swing my legs a bit. Try to find a foothold.”

Bellamy nodded tightly, feeling her body sway back and forth. The third time, her leg shot out and she pressed herself tightly against the earthen wall. Suddenly she wasn’t dead weight in his arms, and he used every ounce of strength he had to pull her upwards. As soon as her elbows hit the grass, she clambered up the rest of the way, and he put an arm around her waist to haul her out completely. He dragged them several feet away before collapsing at the foot of a tree. The roots dug into his back, a sharp and welcome reminder that he was alive.

Clarke panted harshly next to him, her fingers trembling where they held his. His heart thudded against his chest. Bellamy struggled to slow his breathing, wanting to say something, _anything._

“I’m scared.” Clarke whispered. Her eyes were closed tight, though tears still dripped out. 

_So am I._ “Of what?”

“Of myself. Of whatever is happening to me.” She finally looked at him, lost and uncertain. “There was a small part of me that wanted to let go, to just… fall, and be done with all this. I didn't want to listen to it - I never do - but I’m afraid that part will never go away.”

Bellamy ached to comfort her, to pull her into his arms and just hold her. But that wasn’t what she needed right now. So he kept his grip on her hand and let her speak.

“All I can think about is that I don’t deserve this. That I should pay for what I did. I just don’t know how… I don’t know.”

“You _are_ paying for it, Clarke. You never stopped. Every day you wake up, that guilt inside of you is your payment.”

He said it matter-of-factly because he knew it to be true. He carried his own demons with him every day, and just because they didn’t always rise to the surface didn’t mean they weren’t there. But being a leader meant being able to put those aside to focus on the good of his people. _Their_ people.

Her voice trembled. “You know there are still moments some days where I think I’m going to look up and Finn’s going to just come out of the woods? Like he was lost this whole time and it was some awful dream? Some days I wake up and the moment before it all hits me, the moment before I remember, I feel so at peace. And then I feel horrible for it.” The words rushed out. “How can I lead people, how can I even heal people, when Finn’s dead because of me?”

Now Bellamy did take her by the shoulders, pulling her to sit upright against the tree trunk. He kept his arm around her, needing to keep some kind of contact with her to keep her from drowning in her despair.

“Clarke, listen to me,” he said fiercely. “You are _not_ some kind of angel of death. Don’t you see the way the kids look at you? Hell, even some of the adults. When something’s wrong, we all know to go to you first. You keep us alive.”

“And yet I killed him,” she whispered.

“You showed him mercy.” Bellamy was unwavering in his feelings. “He would have suffered a much worse fate if you hadn’t done what you did. Finn was dead the moment he gave himself up to the Grounders. You gave him a quick death. He died in the arms of someone who loved him.”

A sob rattled her throat. “I don’t even know if that’s true anymore. I don’t think I loved him the way Raven did.”

“You loved him enough to do what had to be done.”

“Then why do I feel like this?”

His hand brushed over her hair, trying to provide a solace his words couldn’t. “Clarke, I know about guilt. I know that it sticks to you like a shadow, that it feeds on your doubt and rears its head just when you think it might be gone for good. It doesn’t leave, and it shouldn’t. It’s there to remind us what we’ve lost, and what we’re fighting for. Don’t let it weaken you. Use it. Let it fuel you.”

When she didn’t respond, he lifted her chin with a gentle hand. “You once told me not to run. To stay and fight my fears. Now I’m telling you, don’t let the guilt run you over. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You can’t live with one foot in both worlds, Clarke, or you’ll tear yourself apart. You have to choose one.”

“I know.” Her head drooped against his shoulder. “I want to, so badly. But every time I think I can, I see his face, or Raven, and it all vanishes.”

Bellamy squeezed her arm, hard. “When that happens, you think about everyone else who’s relying on you. The kids. The Grounders. Your patients. Your mother." His voice was no more than a whisper against her hair. "Me.” She shifted to glance up at him, those blue eyes clear and questioning. He lowered his head until their faces were inches apart. 

“Whether you like it or not, I need you most of all. And that isn’t going to change anytime soon.”

Clarke didn’t reply, her eyes simply searching his for several minutes. He could only wait and hope she found whatever she was looking for. Finally she curled against his side with a deep sigh, but still didn't say anything. His worry didn’t subside. “You hear me, princess?" He shook her a little. "I need you.”

“I hear you, Bellamy.” There was a quiet strength in her voice that made him believe she was telling the truth.


	3. Chapter 3

Clarke walked slowly through the brush, not in a hurry for once. The flowers were in full bloom again, the tree leaves at their fiercest shade of green after several continuous days of bright sunlight. The forest was alive after the long, cold winter months. Even though today had dawned grey and dark for the first time in weeks, it didn’t stop the small signs of life. Slowly, the clouds gathered overhead in warning of the oncoming storm, but still Clarke didn’t hasten. 

She’d found long ago that she loved the rain. She loved the sound it made pattering on the rooves of the small huts they had built for their first winter on Earth. She loved the way all noise was drowned out by the pouring water until there was nothing but the rush of rain soaking every inch of the ground. She loved the moments right after the rain stopped, when everything was quiet and new again.

So she took her time, her steps slow and easy. Occasionally, she stopped to examine a new plant or compare it against the a sketch in the small notebook she now carried courtesy of Bellamy.

Bellamy, who was following her right now but obstinately pretending not to. He’d been trailing her since she left camp. Probably keeping her within range of his rifle, just in case. 

A different plant caught her eye and she crouched down. Her hand was already digging in her pocket for a small pencil, and a few minutes later she had a rough sketch on paper. She’d have to remember to show this one to Lincoln.

Hurried footsteps sounded behind her and she turned. Bellamy appeared seconds later, the worry turning to relief and then exasperation. 

“Next time can you wave or something if you’re going to just sit down behind a tree?” He panted.

The grin pulled at her mouth before she could stop it. “Sure.”

He fell into step beside her as they continued back to camp. She studied him out of the corner of her eye, this boy who was a walking paradox. Never would she have thought that times she felt the most calm would be as she walked on Earth with Bellamy Blake. But life had a way of doing that; twisting normal onto its head until at some point, the most unexpected things became a new kind of normal.

Her steps had slowed even further without her realizing it.

“You’re trying to get us caught in the rain, aren’t you?” Bellamy accused. The smile in his eyes gave him away.

Clarke pretended to think. “And if I am?”

He groaned. “I should have sent Miller after you.”

“Nah, you would have missed me too much.”

It slipped out of her so easily. Too easily. Bellamy glanced at with a soft, surprised smile, and _now_ she wanted to hurry back to camp, away from his protective eyes and knowing smile and gentle hands and all the things she wanted but didn’t deserve. Couldn’t deserve.

She kept her eyes on the ground, watching her boots take step after step in tandem with his. 

“You don’t have to do that every time, you know.” His words startled her, made her stop and meet his eyes. “One joke or one smile doesn’t have to mean you’ve filled your quota for the week. You’re allowed to live your life, Clarke.”

He was gazing at her earnestly, as if he could will the truth from his body into hers if he looked long enough.

“Am I?” She whispered it into the air. 

Though it had been over a year since Finn’s death, it didn’t mean she’d forgotten. It didn’t mean she could go back to what used to be. For every laugh that somehow got pulled from her, for every moment she felt remotely happy, there was a corresponding guilt that squeezed her heart in reminder that Finn would never feel any of these things again - because of her.

“I’m not asking you to pretend it didn’t happen.” Bellamy seemed to know her thoughts without her saying a word. His dark eyes were trained on her in the way that always made her feel stripped bare. As if all her carefully built shields were nothing but curtains to be brushed aside.

“All I’m asking is that you try to let yourself breathe,” he continued. “You’ve gotten us this far. Everything we have is because of your courage. Your hard choices. You deserve to... to _feel._ ”

Even if that had been true, she wouldn’t have known where to begin. She said as much with a shrug.

“Then let me help you,” he replied.

She wanted to say yes so badly. But her mouth couldn’t seem to form the word. Her throat closed up, and all she could do was shake her head instead. Bellamy ran a hand through his hair in frustration but didn’t back down. 

“Let me ask you something.” His voice was gentle as he stepped closer. “If your places had been switched, if Finn was here right now instead of you, what would you want for him?”

Stunned, Clarke stared at Bellamy. She had no idea how to respond. Nobody had ever asked her that before. The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. He seemed to know this, because he lowered his voice to match her whisper.

“Just think about it, Clarke. That’s all I’m saying.” His hand briefly cradled her face before he turned to walk away. But she stood rooted to the spot.

“My father is dead,” she said quietly. He stopped in his tracks. “So is Wells, and Finn. All the men who love me die.” Her voice broke on a choked sob and then Bellamy was in front of her, his arms surrounding her without a second thought. Her forehead rested against his shoulder, against the cool, reassuring black leather she’d come to associate with safety. 

“That’s not true.” 

The words were barely more than a rushed breath, an admission he simply couldn’t contain any longer. Her heart tripped and stuttered in time to the three words. _That’s not true._

__

That’s.

__

Not.

__

True. 

__

“Do you love me?” The words were muffled against his jacket but she knew he’d heard her by the way his entire body went still. If it hadn’t been for the warm breath by her ear, she would have guessed he’d stopped breathing. She pulled away to look up at him, needing to see his face. The truth was there, written in the glimmer in his eyes and the fullness of his lips and the callouses on his palms as they rested on her waist. 

He did. He hadn’t said a word, but she knew it in the same way he knew her. He did - _oh god, he did,_ \- and it suddenly made her furious. Furious at him for being stupid enough to love her, furious at herself for not seeing it until now. 

“Then you’re an idiot, and you will die, too,” she spat out, and turned to leave.

But Bellamy grabbed her arm, his grip firm where his fingers dug into her elbow. His voice didn’t rise but now it was brimming with anger. And hurt.

“Don't do that. Don't tell me who I should love." He took a deep breath, trying to erase the tremor in his voice. The sadness in his eyes pierced her to the core. “You can tell me I need to eat and that I should take it easy on the recruits and that maybe my knee won’t recover if I keep up the pace. You can scold me for going on extra patrols and not sleeping. You can even tell me to stop talking back to Jaha. But you can’t tell me who to love, princess.”

He finally let go, striding back through the trees towards the camp gate that towered in the distance. Clarke stood speechless, watching him head inside. Something tightened in her chest and she couldn’t tell if it was her heart or the cage that had formed around it. Eventually she trudged after him, remaining alone with her thoughts for the rest of the day.

Over the next few weeks, she paid more attention to their interactions. Bellamy was normal as ever, teasing the recruits and barking out orders and handing her an apple with a knowing smile when she worked through lunch. But she started to notice things that she couldn’t believe she hadn’t picked up on before.

The light tug on her braid as he passed by. “Morning, princess.” _Morning, love._

Sliding into the spot next to her on the bench with a groan. “I can’t stand patrolling with Byrne.” _I missed you._

Gently guiding her out of medical at dusk despite her protests. “I could hear your stomach from Raven’s Gate.” _I was worried._

“Sleep well, princess.” _Love you._

And to her complete shock, Clarke heard herself responding in kind.

Hands on her hips as she peered up at him in the morning light. “You look awful.” _Go get some sleep._

A poke in the ribs. “Did you give Monroe your lunch again?” _I’ll feed you myself if I have to._

Pushing him down on the cot to check the gash by his collarbone. “How could you be so careless?” _Don’t scare me like that._

“Night, Bell.” _Love you, too._

When had she fallen in love with Bellamy Blake? And how had it taken her this long to figure it out?


	4. Chapter 4

Clarke was furious. Anger radiated from her every pore as she paced back and forth by the gate, halting every few minutes to turn distressed eyes to the woods. Then it was back to pacing.

“She’s going to bore a hole in the ground if he doesn’t get back soon,” Raven muttered.

Octavia could only nod. Her own worry for Bellamy was growing by the minute, but somehow it seemed like nothing compared to the rage that was threatening to spill out of Clarke. She didn’t even know most of the details, just that they’d been part of a small group who ventured out to negotiate with a new Grounder tribe early that morning. An hour later, only one horse returned with a frantic Clarke astride. She’d gathered several of the others, practically thrown the guns at them with shaking hands, and ordered them out. A red stain bled through her jeans from a deep wound on her thigh, but she’d barely seemed to notice until Octavia had forced her to sit long enough to hastily wind a cloth over it. She’d been waiting by the gate ever since.

The sun was high and bright when someone yelled and pointed to the trees. Octavia was up in a heartbeat, her feet carrying her closer to Clarke. The other girl stood stock still until the first figure emerged.

It was one of their own.

Octavia sighed in relief, but Clarke didn’t react except for a clench of her fists. One by one, their group began to filter out of the woods and through the opened gate. Bellamy was the last one, bruised and bloodied but very much alive. Octavia didn’t even realize Clarke had left her side until she saw the blonde marching through the others to get to him.

Her slap echoed into the air, startling everyone.

Clarke stomped back through the camp, ignoring the stares and disappearing inside the dropship. Bellamy stood rubbing his face but appeared to be the only one not surprised by her actions. Slowly walking inside, he pulled Octavia into a quick hug. Then, setting his jaw, he went after Clarke. 

As soon as his head ducked past the sheet, she looked at Raven, who nodded in agreement. They moved towards the ship at the same time, both shooting glares at anyone who dared to follow. Octavia peeked inside to see her brother disappear up the ladder into the other compartment. The door slammed shut after him.

~~~~~~~~

Clarke folded trembling hands in front of her chest as he shut the door. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

His eyes blazed. “Tough shit, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” Clarke was shaking with anger - and fear. “Don’t make me out to be some damsel in distress.”

“You know I wouldn’t-”

“But you _would_ throw me on a horse and send me back while you fight!” She cried.

“I had to,” he protested.

“No you didn’t. I could still shoot.”

He stepped closer. “Princess, there were nearly thirty of them!”

“I know that,” she yelled and shoved at his chest, getting angrier when he didn’t budge. “And if you’d let me stay, you wouldn’t have been down a damn good shot.”

“That was not the priority.”

“And what about _my_ priority? Doesn’t that matter?” She was face to face with him, no thought given to her frantic voice.

His voice was too calm and deliberate when he answered. “It wouldn’t have mattered if you were dead.”

Somewhere inside her mind, she registered just how tightly wound he was, like a bowstring pulled taught. But her anger overtook everything. 

“How do you know-”

“They were waiting for us, Clarke!” His voice rose with each word, his control slipping. “They knew we were coming, how many, and who had the guns. There was never going to be a negotiation. It was an ambush, and we were outnumbered.”

“And yet you sent away someone who could fight!”

His jaw set. “I kept you safe.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I wouldn’t be _safe_ if you had died?” 

Her shrill words echoed into the air, filling the stunned silence between them and wrapping into every corner of the room. _If you died, nothing would matter._ Clarke put shaking hands over her mouth to stop herself from saying anything stupider.

“Clarke,” he murmured, so quiet and soft and _loving_ that she couldn’t take it.

She shook her head. “Don’t.”

Bellamy grasped her by the shoulders, shaking her once. “Clarke,” he said again. His eyes bored into hers, questioning and cautious and caring. The tiniest of sobs escaped from her, and then she was enveloped in his arms, unsure of who was holding onto who. Her hands wrapped around his back, digging into his skin so hard she thought there might be marks left over. She _wanted_ to leave a mark. She shook with relief as they held each other tightly, and when she felt wetness on her neck she realized it was from Bellamy.

“I had to know you were safe.” The words sounded as if they were wrenched from somewhere deep inside him. It was as close to an apology as she would ever get.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again.” It was as close to forgiveness as he would get. But she wasn’t done. Pulling back, she cupped his face in steady hands. “You will _not_ die for me, do you understand?” She searched his eyes, imploring him to see things from her side.

He exhaled, leaning closer until their foreheads touched. “When that arrow went into your leg, I thought I’d failed you.” His voice was stark with fear. “I should have seen it coming. I should have been more careful. What if you’d-”

Clarke cut him off by pressing her lips to his. It was far too swift and chaste and she was shaking, but it was enough to leave him speechless. Keeping her eyes open, she brushed her mouth over his again, once, twice, in a light touch, and felt the shudder that ran through him.

“I know you did what you thought was right, like you always do,” she said softly. “But this time I disagree. Very, very much.”

He nodded, still dumbstruck. 

“I’m your partner, Bellamy. Don’t ever treat me like a princess.”

His breath escaped in a semblance of a laugh. “Fine. The next time we’re ambushed, I will insist on hearing your opinion and arguing the best course of action while they attack.”

“I expect nothing less.”

Bellamy pulled her close again, content to simply hold her, and that was that.

~~~~~~~~

Octavia didn’t notice the shift between Clarke and Bellamy right away, even though she was watching closely for it. They continued on as they always had, debating and supporting and leading. There were no grand declarations, no public displays of affection. And she didn’t expect there to be any. It simply wasn’t in their nature.

But she had expected… _something._ They’d remained in the dropship all night after that nervewracking day, and in the weeks afterward she had been convinced that something had changed. Nobody had a reaction like Clarke’s unless it was fueled by a deeply rooted love. Octavia knew that well enough. And the shouting match that had followed had been nothing short of a lover’s quarrel, though both of them were stupid enough to deny that. But even as her ears strained from the other side of the door, she’d heard their emotions spilling over into the argument, and she couldn’t believe that after all that they had remained oblivious to their feelings.

It wasn’t until one night a few weeks later when they all sat by the fire that she began to see the little things that hadn’t been there before. Bellamy was with them, his gaze wandering throughout camp while they all talked. It was a habit of his to constantly be on the lookout. But then his eyes crinkled and his mouth lifted at the corner for the briefest of seconds, and Octavia looked over her shoulder to follow his line of sight.

Clarke was trudging towards them with a weary smile that was directed solely at Bellamy. Murmuring a greeting to the others, she collapsed next to him by the fire with a sigh and looped her arm through his, resting her head on his shoulder. 

Octavia perked up instantly. _Well, that’s new._

She watched her brother tuck Clarke more securely into his side, lightly rubbing her back. “Was it a boy or girl?” He asked.

“Boy.” Just one word, filled with joy and relief.

“And Kaiya’s okay?”

A nod, followed by a yawn that made him grin. “Both mom and son are healthy.”

“Good.” He reached into an inside pocket of his jacket and dropped something into her palm. “Saved you some.”

“Blueberries?” She looked up happily. “Thanks, Bell.”

 _Bell?_ Octavia’s eyebrows nearly lifted off her head, but she kept her mouth shut. Glancing around at the others, she saw that while they’d noticed the two of them, nobody seemed particularly surprised. Everyone carried on as usual, and both Clarke and Bellamy appeared grateful for it. Well, maybe Bellamy moreso at the moment. Clarke was nearly asleep where she sat, swaying against his side until finally he pulled her gently to her feet. She wasn't sure if it was the exhaustion that had temporarily caused them to lower their guard around everyone, but when nobody commented on it, they seemed to take it as a good sign.

After that, Octavia began to notice other small moments. 

They stood at the gate supervising the latest construction project and chatting quietly when Bellamy slung an arm around Clarke’s shoulders. He muttered something with a faint grin, causing her to elbow him in the ribs with a roll of her eyes, but it only served to widen his smile. His arm remained around her, his fingers absently playing with a strand of her hair.

One day he dropped by the medical unit to ask her opinion on the latest terms to add to the treaty with Lexa’s tribe. They had started doing that more often, amending the truce to include or ignore the newest things they encountered. It was their way of showing the Grounders that they were learning, in the hopes that they would reciprocate. Bellamy moved from cot to cot with Clarke as they tossed questions back and forth. Clarke was as considerate with him as she was with her patients, though now and then she’d poke him with a deliberate reminder that made him grin. They finally settled on a rough idea to present. Right before he left, his lips brushed her cheek. Clarke didn’t react aside from a small smile that lingered throughout the evening.

It was things like that. Careful touches, the occasional soft peck, and a renewed ease with which they did everything. Around Octavia they eventually gave up all pretense. 

As she stood with them one night surveying the latest scaffolding that had rotted through and snapped, Bellamy dropped onto a bench with a heavy sigh. Clarke squeezed his shoulder before her hand trailed up to the back of his neck, absently combing through his hair as she wondered aloud if they should ask Lexa for advice. Octavia offered to ask Nyko if he could suggest anyone to talk to. Clarke smiled at her gratefully before nudging Bellamy’s knee with her own. 

“We’ll figure it out,” she told him.

He nodded wearily, his head still bowed, and she continued the soothing motion while her eyes roamed the camp. His body leaned naturally into her touch, his head resting against her hip. Octavia couldn’t help her smile as she watched them together. Her brother had found his partner in every way, and it was all she could have asked for.

~~~~~~~~

She got more than she bargained for as she sat with Bellamy early one morning inside the supply tent, hunched over the small table to show him what Lincoln had given her. Clarke wandered in with a quiet hello, rummaging around for extra bandages. Octavia tried to explain again.

“Come on, Bell, it’s not that difficult.” She pointed at the map Lincoln had drawn out, naming the landmarks he’d mentioned.

“I know that,” Bellamy said gruffly, and she grinned at his grumpiness. He hated not knowing everything. “What worries me is that there’s so much unknown here.” He pointed to a spot marked only by forest. “There has to be _something_ , man-made or otherwise. I can’t believe it’s just vegetation. Not so close to where Mount Weather was.”

“What’re you guys looking at?” Clarke came over curiously, propping her chin on Bellamy’s shoulder.

“Lincoln and Nyko drew us a map of the territories to the west," Octavia explained, "but big brother here seems to think something’s off.”

Bellamy pursed his lips, his brow scrunched in thought. Clarke shared an eyeroll with Octavia before lightly kissing him on the cheek. “Well, don’t stare too hard or you’ll go cross-eyed. Love you.” With a grin and wave to Octavia, she was gone.

Octavia went to take the paper from her brother only to find him staring after Clarke. At his stricken expression, she leaned forward. “Bell?” She waved a hand in front of his face. “Hey, what is it?”

He turned slowly back to her. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what? The cross-eyed thing? Yeah, I agree it’s in danger of becoming permanent,” she teased, but his expression didn’t change. 

“No… the other thing.” The paper in his hand was all but forgotten.

Octavia raised her eyebrows. “What, she loves you? Duh, of course I heard it. Everyone knows, big brother. It’s not exactly a secret.” Her grin faded at his awestruck look. The realization hit her a minute later. “Wait. Is that the first time she’s said so?”

He nodded dumbly. Her stool toppled over in her haste to get to him. Hauling him up by his shirt, she pushed him forward. “What are you waiting for? Go after her!”

She kept shoving at his back, following him outside in time to see him collide directly with Clarke, who had returned with apparently the same realization. They were a tangle of limbs and rushed apologies until Bellamy pulled her to her feet, and then they crashed together so tightly that she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. Clarke was smiling so brightly that even the sun seemed dim by comparison. Sheer wonder filled her face, as if she hadn’t believed she could ever have this moment again.

She whispered into his ear, and Octavia saw rather than heard her mouth form the words. _I love you._

Bellamy's only response was to hold her tighter, lifting her until her feet dangled off the ground and she squeaked. His shoulders shook with a laugh.

Octavia wiped hastily at her eyes before striding past them. “Get a room,” she called out. The effect was ruined by her loud sniffle.

Their soft laughter followed her the rest of the day.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my dear friend for this prompt! This was incredibly challenging and continued on a lot longer than I thought, but I hope I lived up to it. Title is from lyrics in the song The Heart Never Lies by McFly.


End file.
